


waiting

by cloudburst



Category: Mass Effect: Andromeda
Genre: Custom Ryder - Freeform, M/M, a re-telling for the drama with more details, gratuitous descriptions of kadara port, i miss mass effect, like mostly canon compliant, more stuff after they lock in their relationship that impacts pathfinder duties, trilogy references
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 17:48:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19773313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudburst/pseuds/cloudburst
Summary: “Careful, I’ll start thinking you like me.”Palms sweaty, drowning out the loudness in his ears, the Pathfinder spoke. He was going a million miles an hour, and he felt more dangerous than while brandishing any Pathfinder-issue weapon. “Would that be so bad?”





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> i dunno how i feel but here we are. jared ryder is an asshole but like, not mean. he's just trying too hard 
> 
> here he is in picture form: https://twitter.com/zarainais/status/1144916517173248001 
> 
> mature for language, and arthouse sex eventually. no smut

Kralla’s Song offered one of the best views on Kadara, and shaded its visitors from the unforgiving sun of a planet determined to smother those inhabiting it – choking them out. Kadara was difficult by nature, quite literally - an environment that hardened those living on it through brute force. The bar, much like the planet itself was toughened by its dispositions. Kralla’s was additionally a strategic choice during the day, with enough witnesses to make anyone (see: anyone with the ability to defend themselves) feel comfortable entering for a chat (see: shady business deal). Kadara Port was not comfortable, but Kralla’s Song was the closest thing to a social hub, and was the place you were least likely to be killed in broad daylight. It wasn’t impossible to be killed, of course, but it made sense to meet a skittish man from the Nexus here – someone who feared for their lives due to their importance, or whatever self-righteous shit the newly fabled human Pathfinder would use to justify his uneasiness. The Pathfinder, however, was not scared of Kadara Port or its inhabitants – and Reyes was afraid of just how incorrect he had been. He didn’t enjoy being wrong. 

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” 

The proffered drink prefacing Reyes’ brazen explanation of his true – or true enough – occupation was rejected with the smooth nature of someone who had practice rejecting drinks from strangers. Perhaps this man did reject drinks often; the human Pathfinder was not what Reyes had expected in terms of disposition or looks – young, with a large and faded pink scar across his right eye, all tousled blond hair and bright green eyes that were sharp, like they could discern his every thought. Reyes hoped for his sake that they could not, for certain things were meant to remain between him and an empty room. And with that, he downed the drinks intended for both himself and the Pathfinder. 

“I was expecting someone more… Angaran.” Touché. And perhaps it was imagined, though Reyes was used to it being of more than feigned wishes, the Pathfinder looked at him with interest in his eyes – the kind of interest that was a once-over for more than just a precursory glance, for desire beyond conversation. He hoped it was real. 

“The resistance pays me to supply information – among other things.” Reyes could see the Pathfinder wondering why the Angaran Resistance paid a common smuggler for information. How had Reyes come by the information he would be supplying today? (Networks of underground Collective agents.) Why did the Angara trust it? (He had never been wrong before.) At the very least, he could assume the Pathfinder’s train of thought. 

It was easy to forget that most things in the galaxy that were beautiful and still glistened with the sheen of the Milky Way were Nexus – particularly when you were homesick for more than just whiskey. Yet there was no indication of Initiative association on the Pathfinder – of being from the space station – beyond the solid black hoodie emblazoned with a familiar logo that had once held hope for so many, and now represented corruption and lost opportunity. He looked like he belonged in Andromeda, like he belonged in seedy Kadara Port as Reyes told him about Vehn Terev’s arrest following his betrayal of the Resistance, of Moshae Sjefa. He had been hardened by exploration and consequence, and there was nothing left to differentiate him from those his people – the Nexus – were calling exiles. 

“The people are calling for his execution. And Sloane… she’s a woman of the people.”

Reyes awaited the Pathfinder’s response, and he didn’t have to for long. With his words, any illusion of Pathfinder Ryder’s attitude toward those on Kadara was shattered; he didn’t belong in Kadara Port. He belonged in shiny spaceships designed for shiny ex-Alliance soldiers to chart the galaxy. It would be foolish to forget that, or to forget why he had come. The Pathfinder had no purpose in Kadara Port beyond Vehn, and soon, he would leave – forgetting about the desolate planet and the people on it. He hadn’t been looking at Reyes in any way at all. The Pathfinder had been looking at an exile he was forced to deal with. The sentiment was not a realization, as Reyes had known from the start Ryder would think him incorrigible; it didn’t make the disappointment he felt at the loss of his own bravado any less real, however. 

“Dress it up however you want. She’s a criminal.” And though Reyes agreed, so was he. This topic was avoided altogether, as it seemed best not to remind the very dangerous man in front of him of certain affiliations, no matter how by-the-book he’d heard the Pathfinder to be. 

“You work for the Initiative. Sloane was part of the uprising on the Nexus. I doubt she’ll give Vehn up easily.”

“Everyone has a price,” said the Pathfinder, and Ryder had no idea how right he was. Kadara Port was more than just a planet full of individuals he’d labelled as criminals. It was a trial of life and death – of people trying to survive, of others exploiting their weakness until the inevitable demise of those not strong enough to fight. It really wasn’t a game at all, but Sloane Kelly treated it liked one: a woman of the people – people whose heads went on spikes if they were not careful. He could not see her cooperating with the Pathfinder; he was too much of everything for someone like Sloane Kelly – a reminder of what she’d run from, and a representation of all the things she’d come to hate. 

“There might be another way to get to Vehn. You work Sloane. I’ll talk to the Resistance.” He awaited the Pathfinder’s affirmation, receiving nothing beyond a stare. That was confirmation enough as Reyes’ footsteps carried him away – to other jobs, to more important things. He had planning to do.  
He was surprised to hear Ryder’s voice behind him. “How do I contact you if things go South?” The wink was an impulse. He hoped the Pathfinder wouldn’t follow him to learn more. 

He didn’t. 

☼ ☼ ☼

Keema Dohrgun was a blessing – not even in disguise. They were friends, no matter how often Reyes would tell himself they were mere acquaintances; the nights they’d spent together over Angaran liquor had told Keema all she needed to know. She would laugh in that Angaran way, never knowing if it was at or with you, as Reyes told her another story about a well-meaning Angara or other inhabitant of Kadara offering to buy him a drink in hope of things moving beyond. And though he never told her the individual outcomes – he believed she knew the end. He was glad Keema was an ally, for she would be a dangerous woman to cross. 

She was a reliable source of information, in times past delivering information to him about the Angara before he had even heard a whisper of it. With his proliferation of power, however, that began to change. That didn’t revoke previous success, however, or change the fact she was typically correct in her approximations of events on Kadara, but it was unbelievable how quickly she had gotten word about the Pathfinder’s erratic actions in Sloane’s throne room. She dutifully described how Ryder had told Sloane his purpose was none of her concern, recounted the way he had disarmed her guard at his approach – pistol pointed at the self-proclaimed Queen of Kadara. Reyes thought that, maybe, Ryder wasn’t as professional as he’d thought. Or, more likely, he didn’t care about his actions on a planet of people he’d written off as criminals. Either way, he wished he had been there to see the self-righteous smirk slide off Sloane’s face. At times, Reyes felt that he was too much like Sloane – too in his head, but he believed people deserved to keep their own head – and self-awareness was the first step to healing, or something like that. 

Things would eventually be different; he kept telling himself that he would be different. Reyes would continue to lie, but it would have a purpose larger than himself and the Collective – would have a purpose beyond finally achieving his goals. He would continue to cheat and swindle, kill when he must – though even now he had others to occasionally do that for him – but he would be fair. Lying was simply a side effect of the larger play. Lying was necessary to survive, and it always had been for him. That’s why it came so easily to him – so naturally. Because it was. The Pathfinder had stumbled onto a planet preparing for a war between rival factions, but Reyes was determined Kadara would never make it to that point. Heleus could not sustain that, and Reyes was all for saving his own ass – along with those of the others in Kadara Port. If you were going to run a criminal enterprise, you should at least do it right. 

His thoughts were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. His room in Tartarus was the same as always, but with the addition of an amused Angaran woman staring directly into his soul. She was seated on the corner nearest to him, not afraid of invading Reyes’ personal space despite the surplus of available seating in the room. It was rare that Keema Dohrgun was seen in the slums, and even rarer that she set foot in an establishment like Tartarus. She was an advisor to Sloane, despite her lack of real power, and there was no reason for her to be in such a place. She was a bigshot on many worlds, and her voice was pleasant in Reyes’ ears. 

“So your meeting with the Pathfinder went well?”

Reyes examined her, trying to find an ulterior motive in her question but found none. When Keema meant something, she would state it, usually. It was the Angaran way, and Reyes supposed – to a point – that it was how you treated friends as well. He couldn’t help his natural suspicion, but he always tried to. The woman had done nothing to warrant it, as she had always been loyal in business and friendship. 

“You know damn well how it went,” Reyes said, leaning back in his seat. Night had long fallen over Kadara Port, and the noise in Tartarus was only beginning to increase. Beyond the door to his private room were individuals of all kinds involved in revelry – dancing, drinking, fucking. They all longed to forget their lot in life or to improve it momentarily; sometimes they were successful, and other times they overdosed on Oblivion, or were killed – too drunk, having insulted a krogan’s mother while in a stupor. That was just last week. But Reyes was here, answering questions about the Pathfinder, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Perhaps he should have been out there with them, but he had other things to do – and questions to answer – that were not related to Ryder. 

“Oh, my dear, I do. Yet I’ve not heard why you’re acting such a baby about his presence.” Keema took a drag from the cigar-like object: Milky Way innovation, Andromeda-made. Smoke forged a path around the room, and Reyes thought it was ironic that even the Angara would kill themselves slowly to have a momentary buzz; all species were the same. Everyone was the same, and that was why he would always have work moving goods of an unsavory quality, stolen, even when all the honest work was taken - not that he'd ever tried for honest work, even before the Initiative. The smoke smelled faintly of fruit and some other unnamed scent that he could not have formulated words for if he tried. “I thought you had previously concluded that having an Outpost or some Initiative presence on Kadara would be good for the port. Has something changed?”

Reyes sighed, pinching the place between his eyebrows. “Nothing’s changed.”

☼ ☼ ☼

The day following his meeting with the Pathfinder, Reyes had the logistics for Ryder’s entry into Sloane’s cells – for his access to Vehn Terev. It was just a matter of meeting with the man to convey the information that had become an issue, as a wink did not suffice as a mode of communication apparently. His Resistance contacts had told him how to contact Ryder, and soon enough he’d had a response setting up a meeting time in Kadara Port. It was still early in the day, the sun not out enough to begin its daily bout of strangulation – not enough to suffocate even the most well-meaning of inhabitants. Reyes would have dared to say it was pleasant, standing there in his flight suit. He would also have said everyone around him was nondescript. There was a variety of ex-Milky Way inhabitants milling about, with many Angara – the original settlers of Kadara – thrown into the mix. If not for the knowledge that they were in Andromeda, Reyes may have allowed himself to believe he was at a port in the Terminus Systems, ready to fly away with cargo stolen from the Citadel – cargo to be flown to some shady buyer on Omega, whose name he would never learn. But this was not Omega, was nowhere near the Attican Traverse, and not everyone in Kadara Port was in-the-ordinary, as Ryder approached him wearing the same Initiative civvies from the day before. 

Reyes crossed his arms over his chest. He would not let his momentary attraction get the better of him. He was a professional, after all – and the Pathfinder thought of him as nothing but a means to an end. The feeling was mutual. It was funny, really, that if you had placed Ryder in front of him on Omega – anywhere in the Milky Way, he would’ve been just Reyes’ type; now he was the type inviting issues, and that scale of trouble was what Reyes had been learning to avoid for the past year. “Have a nice chat?”

The Pathfinder scowled as he finished his approach. “She almost shot me.” And Reyes thought his indignation was misplaced, as he had also almost shot Sloane; he laughed in spite of this. However, he was not one to take Sloane’s side, so he let the comment go unchecked. Ryder likely didn’t know just how well-connected Reyes Vidal was, and if he did, he wasn’t letting on. Reyes would prefer that he didn’t. Everything was easier if his presence in the Pathfinder’s life was one of common smuggler he worked with once or twice, then promptly forgot about upon first flight out of Kadara Port. 

“Don’t worry, I found a workaround.” No one paid the shady smuggler or the Initiative mook any mind as Reyes handed over the degradation component. He told Ryder to use it to release Vehn Terev from his cell, as Evfra wanted the man alive, and Reyes wanted to keep his contacts happy. He was generally a man of his word, whatever that meant on Kadara. 

“That’ll get you inside,” Reyes said. “You should be able to handle the rest.” 

He hadn’t anticipated the Pathfinder continuing the conversation – hadn’t anticipated the small smile that he was offered as Ryder spoke, as if he hadn’t meant to show it to Reyes at all. Perhaps the look he had been offered in Kralla’s Song was real, and the Pathfinder was unaware of it. It seemed unlikely, as Ryder appeared to have lived enough to know when he was showing his hand, but anything was possible. They had traversed dark space, so he supposed that a Pathfinder experiencing some level of rudimentary attraction to someone he couldn’t have wasn’t the craziest thing to happen recently. On nearly all levels was he unavailable to the Pathfinder: socially, emotionally, morally. Reyes knew he was attractive; he thought it was perhaps the allure of knowing you can look but can’t touch. (Reyes wanted him to want to. He wouldn’t admit that.)

“There’s still the matter of the bill you left me with.” 

“I’m usually the model gentleman,” he lied.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Because I’m lying.” He told the truth. 

Reyes didn’t know why he told Ryder to come to Tartarus when he was finished - not a place for meeting business contacts, Reyes. He didn’t know why he told him he’d buy the first round. (He wouldn’t.) But Ryder flirted with him anyways – shamelessly – as they discussed the murder in Kadara Port upon the Pathfinder's venture to the slums. (I sound pretty integral to this plan.) Reyes flirted back – shameful, nearly unbeknownst to himself – as he sent him on his way. (SAM is integral. You’re a bonus.)

The Pathfinder called when he arrived at the crime scene. Reyes answered with a sigh. This would not be an issue, because he wouldn’t let it be.


	2. Chapter Two

His impression of Kadara Port was immediately neutral. It was seedy, different from the rest of the worlds he’d explored thus far in Andromeda. The prior destinations the Pathfinder had visited were shiny, and though they’d been decimated by Kett, they still had the sheen of places that were once beautiful – places that could still hope to be something more. Kadara was irredeemable, and that made it something of an adventure itself – latent danger seeping from every doorway, pouring onto the streets of the port. The Nexus’ exiles had found a place where the entire planet would push back with force, and they could only hope to tame it. His impression of the people was immediately neutral, as well. No one had stabbed him yet for wearing his dark Initiative civvies in the overcrowded walkways, but they did stare; they did whisper behind his back, whispering that they hoped he’d choke – that he was scum. It was an understandable reaction and he accepted that – would accept it until a gun was pointed at him and he believed the person he was confronted with would pull the trigger. Until then, the hostility directed toward the Pathfinder in Kadara Port was something to be paid no mind. Jared Ryder had spent far too long maintaining a professional façade, void of reaction – that sometimes he felt he had become someone else. Or perhaps it was a coping mechanism brought about by his time in the Alliance. Either way, that was a thought for another time. 

Jared’s first impression of the Resistance contact was anything but neutral. He was ashamed to admit that for the briefest of moments, Pathfinder business was the farthest thing from his mind. (The façade dropped. He stared.) In front of him was the most beautiful man he’d seen in Andromeda – seen ever – face of sharp angles topped with dark hair. He’d been expecting someone a little more Angaran. He hoped that Shena – Reyes, he’d said to call him – was unable to tell how surprised he’d been, for the Pathfinder didn’t think he’d been necessarily subtle. He offset this by rejecting the offer of a drink with practiced ease, as it was simple for him to tender rejection he’d offered in response so many times. (He’d wanted to take the glass.) 

Now, he stood in the middle of a crime scene days later, wondering where it had all gone so wrong. And perhaps wrong wasn’t the right word – just off-course. His mission had been to find Vehn Terev, to gain the trust of the Resistance and leave without wear – but he was admittedly intrigued, and he could see the Initiative’s chances of establishing an Outpost go up as he learned more about the inner-workings of the planet’s inhabitants. They needed a way to be safe – or at the very least to feel that way; drugs being pumped throughout the slums via shady dealers and Outcast puppets was not conducive to that feeling, or so he had discussed with Reyes. Perhaps, Jared thought, he himself was acting as a marionette for the Collective – choking off the Oblivion trade via Sloane’s labs, leaving a vacuum for them to sweep in like a knight in shining armor, bringing new drugs and new dangers. The fact stood that Kadara was an unknown quantity, and Jared was still trying to gain his footing. He could be paranoid, but he could also be right. He’d always loved taking risks. 

The Angara who had murdered the krogan should have been less heavy-footed, having left footprints across the room, trace-amounts of blood evidence giving away the species. Ryder scanned the knife found outside the building, saying to Reyes that he’d retrieved the murder weapon. Vetra’s voice cut across the open air. 

“What kind of moron just leaves the murder weapon laying around?”

Cora laughed. “The type of person who doesn’t anticipate a highly advanced AI and a Pathfinder.” She paused, then, looking at the expression on Jared’s face – the one that told her this was more than just one murder. “Or someone who doesn’t care.”

“Bingo,” Jared said, turning his attention to SAM. “SAM, chart me a course to the Roekaar hideout. Tomorrow, we hit it.” 

☼ ☼ ☼

The day was hot, the heat seeping out of pores with no remorse – sweat dropping onto sand that didn’t care if the people walking across it were alive or dead. But Jared Ryder paid the temperature no mind as he sat at the counter in Kralla’s Song – the day beginning the slow shift to night – Cora Harper and Vetra Nyx on either side of him. Drack was nearby, with Liam Kosta reluctantly having entered the port to obtain a drink. He wasn’t paying attention to his squad, something he would feel a bit of remorse for later; his thoughts revolved around a man with the codename Shena and eyes the color of honey. It was purely academic. He wanted to feel Reyes’ gloved hand across his face – wanted to kiss him and make him repay the bar tab Reyes had left him with in full. Feelings had never been much part of Jared Ryder’s decision-making, but this time he was feeling with something other than his heart, and that weighed heavily into this equation – the one of his decision to order a whiskey before returning to the Tempest, to drown more than just his thoughts. 

That distinction, however, didn’t explain the quickening of his pulse when Reyes responded to his message about the Roekaar hideout. And that fact, however, he ignored. 

☼ ☼ ☼

The Pathfinder walked into the hideout – the doors opening with a soft hissing noise, Drack and Vetra entering the building behind him. He had wished to find Reyes behind the sealed entrance, but was greeted with nothing more than an empty room and far too much silence. It was evident from his wish going ungranted that this raid would not go as planned, with the noise he and his two squadmates were making already too much for it to go unnoticed if there were Roekaar past the other set of doors. (Jared thought it would be ridiculous if there weren’t, as that’s who they’d come for after all. Reyes was just a bonus.)

“Reyes should be here.”

The doors were still open; the sunlight streamed in behind the three of them as Vetra asked, “So, is there something going on? You and Reyes?”

“That’s not –” And with that, Roekaar poured through the doors. They had been a leaking faucet – pouring too much noise into the open, and now they had lost the element of surprise. Jared didn’t sigh before he spoke again. He had accepted that nothing in Andromeda went as expected the moment he’d gained his role as the human Pathfinder. “Were we too loud?”

The Roekaar guards escorted them through the next set of doors. Ryder looked around – hands up the whole time. He didn’t need his weapons to be dangerous. He didn’t need his hands, even, not really. Biotics will do that to you, and his very much so. However, knowing the lay of the land when entering a confrontation that would most likely turn hostile never hurt, so he observed. They were in a high cave; equipment was scattered around them, clearly powering the lights and terminals within the hideout. To the side, several Angara engaged in a sparring match; everyone here was trained, and deadly so. To enter a confrontation without a plan would offer possible victory, but it wouldn’t be easy. It was never easy. 

“Settle down.” He lowered his arms. “We only came to talk.” And he lied. 

The Angaran woman before them was beautiful in her determination and toughened in her resolve. She was as blue as the sky, and hard like the stone surrounding them. Ryder thought it was a shame she would likely die today. “We don’t talk with outsiders. You’ll bleed, just like the others.” 

“So it’s true. You murdered innocent people.” The woman, Farah they had said her name was, strode toward him. Her eyes held no remorse as she spoke, and he could understand her sentiment – of protecting the Angara – but the tactics were a little much for his taste. 

“Invaders and sympathizers are not innocent. I will protect my home.” He thought of Jaal, for even he was not innocent by this Angaran’s considerations, as he’d begun to learn that harsh were the standards the Roekaar held for all Angara. 

“Like it or not, we’re here to stay. You can’t kill us all.” Yet, Jared knew she could try. So did she.  
Unlike Kadara, she was frozen when she spoke – cool venom pouring from her tongue and pooling like blood at her feet. The Pathfinder felt her spite. He hated that his mind told him to understand – to try to believe the woman had her reasons. 

“I can try.” And with that, Jared prepared himself for the fight that was sure to come. He closed himself off once more as he accepted that he would have to kill these people, and it was enough for now – until he would think later of the lives he’d taken but hadn’t signed up to steal; he was meant to obtain information, reconnaissance. This was not the Alliance but he was a soldier all the same. The gun flying out of Farah’s hand, accompanied by the sound of a gunshot, was unexpected but not unpleasant. Neither was the accompanying voice – smooth, not resonating like the Angara’s. This was an ally. 

“Not so fast.” 

The sight of Reyes Vidal rushing down the stairs into the hideout was not unwelcome, and neither was the accompanying explosion that began the onslaught. Maybe Jared was showing off as he rolled into position, taking very seriously Farah yelling that he should die. It was an impulse – to show Reyes what he could do. Everything following was not. In the field, the human Pathfinder was calculated and quick. He rushed into the fray, charging at one of the Roekaar, and he could have sworn he’d heard the smuggler swear. 

For a moment, Jared was back on that outpost near Arcturus Station. These were not Angara – they were Batarians, a small pocket trying to take relays via their outposts, building up a shadow force that would rise over the Alliance. It had been a pipe dream from the start. The Batarians were not a people of considerable military strength, and Jared’s gun cut through them like water. He’d only ever wanted to see what was beyond the relay; instead he killed them, and he had now certainly gotten his wish. 

But then he was in Andromeda, and the Roekaar were all dead. Death seemed to follow him everywhere he went: Ellen, Alec, the rogue colonists on Eos – if only he’d explained the dangers of the Kett a bit more… Well, he’d done all he could; that’s what he told himself when he couldn’t sleep at night in a room that was intended for a man larger than life, but had instead been passed down to him. That’s how he felt when he walked in his father’s room on the Ark, longing to be less than he was. Hoping would do nothing for his position, and nothing for the Angara he had just killed. Jared had learned not to hope when he was told his best option was to seek a discharge from the Alliance, and join the Initiative as a result of his father’s choices. When his sister failed to awake from cryo and his father promptly died, he’d figured hope was no good at all. It wasn’t necessarily the best disposition for a Pathfinder to have, personally, but he still believed in the people of the Initiative – still believed in their chances to create a home in Andromeda. That was not hope, because that would one day be the reality. 

It had cost him too much just to see stars no one had ever seen before. 

Reyes spoke to him as they were leaving. His voice was low – smooth, like it always was when they conversed – stolen moments smuggled and seared into Jared’s mind. “The streets of Kadara are safe again. You did good, Ryder.” Jared’s face was warmer than the Kadaran surface; he was glad he wasn’t pale. “I’ll let all the important people know who to thank.”

He wasn’t flirting – no matter what Vetra said, no matter Drack’s laughter at his refusal to acknowledge that he knew exactly what he was doing. (He was flirting. He knew.)

“We make a good team.”

Reyes approached him – pulse hammering in Jared’s throat like an antsy drell assassin, counting the steps till their mark was in range. Reyes was his target, but with the way Vidal looked at him – maybe that was reciprocated. It was a poor decision to be hopeful, but he would allow himself this – just in conversation, just in passing and crazy hypotheticals – but he would allow it. “Careful, I’ll start thinking you like me.”

Palms sweaty, drowning out the loudness in his ears, the Pathfinder spoke. He was going a million miles an hour, and he felt more dangerous than while brandishing any Pathfinder-issue weapon. “Would that be so bad?”

“Depends. Don’t be a stranger, Pathfinder.” 

☼ ☼ ☼

“So,” Vetra began, sitting at the small coffee table-esque piece of furniture in Jared’s quarters. It looked a bit comical, tall – long Vetra looking natural in a place that had never been meant to hold her. It was meant to, now. “You and Reyes?”

Jared sighed, taking a careful sip of the Kadaran moonshine. He hoped she would believe his expression to be a result of the drink. “Like I said, that’s not – well, that’s not anything.” 

And Vetra laughed, and laughed. The only other person who knew him so well was his sister, sleeping in the Hyperion Med Bay, with Jared hoping she would wake up. She was the only family he had left – the only family he felt he’d ever really had. But then Vetra laughed at him, and he felt a bit better; he wouldn’t tell her that, though. It would go right to her head if she knew how important she was. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was asking and you know it.” Jared swallowed. He had known. “You want it to be,” and then it wasn’t a question, she wasn’t asking. It was a statement with intention. The Pathfinder could deny her – say he had no idea what she was talking about, but he was a little drunk and a little sure of one thing: that he wanted it to be, in some capacity. 

“Yeah, yeah. I want it to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooo the plot thickens (like we don't all know what happens)


	3. Chapter Three

Smuggling wasn’t a passing game – for it had always been his profession – the movement of illegal goods across sovereign space morphing into the movement of illegal goods across a dark traverse with no laws. Reyes Vidal was always great at activities that were not-so-legal, but Andromeda only raised the stakes; there was no rule of law to strike him down. However, there was the unknown to confound. In the Milky Way, he would break a trade embargo for a Batarian board game smuggled to Thessia across Alliance-protected space – would dabble in supplies for colonies that received no support from the Council, whether on purpose or pure neglect. (As Reyes had discovered, it was often pure neglect. Like in Andromeda, leadership in the Milky Way was often no more than a farce – caring about nothing more than appearances.) However, in Andromeda, most situations were of the life or death variety. It may have been dramatic to say, but there was no room to dabble with people’s lives, though it seemed that was all he’d been doing recently – as he further involved the Pathfinder in his plans. Whether for personal gain or for the role of the Charlatan, he was unsure. (He was sure, and truly it was neither. Gain was not the word he would use later, but he had won something all the same. It was funny, because he had never been a gambling man.) 

“Ryder! Perfect timing. You saved me the trouble of looking for you.”

Everything was dark – the room, the night, the flickering lights of Kadara Port in a world just above the slums. So were Ryder’s eyes as he responded, joking in tone – serious in intention. Reyes’ hope burned black like ash in his chest. He would lie to himself; he did not need the Pathfinder, but this? This would make it easier.

“Should I go? You look like the type who enjoys the chase.”

He laughed despite himself, he was known in a lie – and that was a scary thought. Jared Ryder knew too much and nothing, all at once – and that threw Reyes Vidal out of his element. It was better than any flight simulator. He was not flying, yet. 

“Looks can be deceiving. I’m too shy for that nonsense.”

“Oh, yeah. A real introvert.” Jared paused, as if remembering his squad just at his heels – remembering the mission that Reyes was infringing upon for just a moment. Reyes hoped he could spare the time. It was for professional gain – and perhaps the company. No, gain – profits – credits. This was all a partnership could be. That was all it would be for the both of them. Ryder would leave Kadara Port after establishing an Outpost; the Initiative would leave the Collective alone following the (not so peaceful) transfer of power from Outcast hands. The Pathfinder was a player reduced to a pawn in a much smaller game – so what did that make Reyes?

“So, what did you need me for?” Jared spoke quickly, 

Reyes explained Zia Cordier, a business rival he’d said. He left out the slightly more amorous nature of their relationship, if only to readily obtain the Pathfinder’s agreement. (This was following a brief period of haggling a split of the profits, of course: 60/40. Even the Pathfinder – the Initiative’s golden boy who seemed far more brass than expected could not be assumed to work for free. Everything in Andromeda was for a profit of some kind, whether anyone wanted to admit it or not. Reyes was more open about his intentions than most – at least in this, in showing priority to the credits. And in a way, he and Ryder were the same, seeking a payout larger than themselves. But unlike Reyes’ ambitions to take a port, Jared Ryder wanted to steal a whole galaxy. He was foolish if he hoped for more. Reyes had always liked ambition, even when once lacking it himself.)

“When she stops in Kadara, Zia drinks at Kralla’s Song.” Reyes thought of holding her, out in the open. He had not felt much, but she had been fun. Many in Kadara Port knew their relationship had been more than friendly. “We’ll start there. See if Umi heard anything that could help us.”

☼ ☼ ☼

The Pathfinder had only docked in Kadara Port two weeks ago, whatever that indicator of time meant to someone who had taken out several pockets of Outcasts hiding in the hills – someone who had choked off a part of the Oblivion supply that threatened a large portion of the population, with tainted strains and overdoses alike proliferating in the slums. Reyes wondered what Ryder made of the lack of Collective interference with his actions, as this was no mistake or coincidence. He had ensured this. In the endgame, making an enemy of the Nexus – of the human Pathfinder – was not an action his plan could bare. 

However, the longer he could keep his intentions from the Pathfinder, the easier it would be for Jared to assume the ramifications of Reyes’ actions were a natural order of things. (Reyes told himself there was no other reason he would hide his identity from the Pathfinder. It would not be an issue. This was until he heard an unsure voice behind him; he knew, then.)

“You look like you’re waiting for someone.” Jared Ryder was behind him.

Despite himself, Reyes could feel the corners of his lips pulling up into a small smile. He’d allow himself this moment in the light of Kadara Port. Nothing would come of a flirtation between the desert and the sky. “That’s my line.” 

Umi groaned at them, and Reyes imagined that if he were the grumpy asari, he would have done the same. She looked between him and Jared, speaking in her normal, matter-of-fact tone. As always, she gave nothing away. “You want a drink or a room?”  
Reyes noted the Pathfinder’s nervous chuckle. Perhaps there was something he was afraid to give. 

“Information, actually.”

“That’ll cost you more than a round of drinks.”

Reyes decided to push his luck – leaning on the counter of Kralla’s Song. He felt untouchable. It had nothing to do with Jared Ryder looking at him for his next move – had nothing to do with the way he looked indignant at Reyes’ next statement. It was all personal gain, and there was that word again. It was free drinks and free information, with green eyes the color of new leaves staring at him. “My friend’s good for it.” He told the truth; Ryder was good for it, as he had been for many things: tracking down a murderer, taking out a hostile group of Roekaar, and confusing the hell out of him. He’d told him not to be a stranger, but was beginning to think that was the best thing for him to be. 

Reyes wondered if the Pathfinder was pushing that same envelope, wading into unknown territory. He didn’t need to wonder for long.

“I’ll expect a favor in return.” Reyes lied to himself as Ryder spoke – didn’t feel the heat of the Kadaran sun in a look. He didn’t wish for it. 

“You’re one person I’ll happily owe something.” He told the truth once more. 

And Umi’s groan brought him out of his momentary, yet gratuitous all the same moment of self-reflection. Again, with the groaning. “What do you want to know?”

“Zia Cordier.” It was a statement, not a question. They both knew to whom he was referring. “She been around recently?”

“You mean your ex? Yeah, she was here.” 

And Umi, ever-reliable in her information was now too reliable. Her memory had betrayed none but Reyes, as the Pathfinder turned to him with an unreadable expression on his face. “Ex? As in girlfriend?” 

Reyes did not think about Jared’s emphasis on the last word, as if he were searching for something further. He was now focused on maintaining the support he had previously garnered; the Pathfinder’s SAM would make tracking down the stolen cargo much easier, and he could not afford to lose the aid if he wished to find it at any expedited rate. As he had mentioned previously, Ryder truly was just a bonus. His words had not been a lie, as they often were by omission. 

“Girlfriend’s such a strong word. We had drinks occasionally. So…” He turned to Umi, unsure of even his own discomfort at the unchanging expression on Jared’s face. It had frozen, but not as before. He still struggled to read the Pathfinder; for all their acquaintance, it had only been two weeks. He should not learn to read him. “She was here?” 

“Yeah, met with a Salarian. Shifty guy I’d never seen before. Maybe it was the Charlatan.” 

He committed another act of dishonesty via the time-tested vehicle of omission. It felt bitter falling past his lips. “Anything’s possible. You overhear their conversation?”

Umi disclosed their plan to meet someone at Spirit’s Edge. It seemed a no-brainer for the Pathfinder to check the meeting spot. He told Jared he would follow the Collective lead, which would consist of him following any lead beyond the Charlatan. At times, it was hard being a ghost – being a story told to scare exiles like children. 

“Doubt Zia was meeting the Charlatan, but you never know.” 

“Is this job about getting your cargo back or one-upping an ex?” The Pathfinder’s tone had shifted from questioning to near anger. Reyes hoped he was jealous; but he was likely mad about being used. 

When it came to certain things, he had never been good at keeping his mouth shut. Perhaps he was hoping to push his luck again, as it had always worked with Ryder in the past. 

“Why, Ryder… are you jealous?”

“Just answer the question.” Anger, then – or a justified disguise. Reyes laughed despite himself, which didn’t win any points in alleviating the Pathfinder’s rapidly darkening expression. 

“It’s about the cargo.” There was a pause – the wordlessness between them stretched until Reyes spoke again. “I’ll work my contacts. Give me a call when you get to the meeting spot.”

☼ ☼ ☼

It had taken longer than expected for the Pathfinder to track down the cargo – what with the finding a home for the Milky Way inhabitants business working constantly in the forefront of the Pathfinder’s mind. It only served Reyes right for depending on a man whose time was more precious than any amount of credits.  
He’d managed to steal it anyways. He was a better thief than even he’d thought. 

“What can I say? I’m a greedy man.” Seeing Zia was like a shock to the system, even after the few days’ anticipation he had of this meeting – but she was all unpleasant, and none of the warm feelings bubbling in his chest at the thought of reconciliation. Seeing her was premonition of something bigger. Reyes could not wait for it to be over.

She spoke the truth, then, and it was like poison dripping from her previously sweet lips – acid in her accent that had once been like honey. “That’s why you don’t have any friends. You’re selfish.”

He wanted to reply that he didn’t need them; ghosts didn’t have friends. But he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. Jared’s voice carried across the space instead.  
Jared’s words were like a shock to the system as well – but all pleasant, and a singular warm feeling bubbling in his chest at the momentary thought of there being truth in them. “Reyes is a better man than you think.”

“Oh, honey,” she began. Reyes could feel the laughter in her voice. “You’ve no idea how wrong you are. But you will.”

It was anger that drew him back into the conversation. He only wondered where that was placed, burning like fire in his voice. “Leave him out of this.”

“You must really like this one, Reyes.”

He would not deny the truth. 

But he did not hesitate to save his own life. The tragic smuggling union on Kadara met a quick end as they attacked – there was a reason he was offered all the good jobs – Reyes swearing he saw Jared Ryder wince at the mention of Zia’s body, at the reminder one of them had just killed a woman Reyes once held in the night. (Ryder had killed her.)

“Not everything has to be about credits,” he’d said – looking at Reyes with an unreadable expression. 

“That’s true,” Reyes responded, lowering the arm with his omni-tool. He debated his next words, offering them with far less abandon than the drink he’d hope to share in Kralla’s Song. “What you said back there… about me being a better man. Thank you.” 

There was no hesitation in the Pathfinder’s response. Reyes thanked everything for that – that he didn’t regret them or take them back. He didn’t know what it meant. “You’re welcome.”

That night, Angaran liquor in his hand – Keema laughing as he paused his reading of her proffered dossier to relay the events of the day – he supposed he might. He would tell no lies in the closed off room in Tartarus. The music would swallow the truth whole. 

It did not matter. Sand did not kiss the sky, just as he would not touch the stars. Reyes had never been one to tempt fate, at least in this. 

“Reyes?”

“I am afraid of what he will think.” There was no doubt to whom he was referring. Keema did not need to ask, for to ask would be cruel as he drowned in the blue liquid. 

“Oh, Reyes.” She looked at him with companionship, and with pity. 

He didn’t need her pity, but he found in that moment – he wanted it. It was the liquor talking. 

And this is why he preferred whiskey.


	4. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i churned ch. 4 out today. i'm really hoping i captured the intensity of jared's feelings? like he doesn't know what he feels bc they haven't known each other long. but we know

Decisions were something he’d never taken lightly – no matter what they were, or their possible outcomes. He recalled that once Sara had asked him what they were having for breakfast, pulling nonperishables they’d shared out of their small Citadel footlockers back in the Milky Way. (With some of the food they’d had, it was hard to tell what was perishable.) It was an impossible decision, as young as they were, Blast-O’s or anything else in the various assortment of goods he’d snuck out of Zakera Ward. The Turian at the cafe there smiled at him when he came by, said that Jared had good taste. Sara scoffed when she heard about that, even at thirteen. 

Some things never changed. 

They’d ended up eating Blast-O’s out of stained bowls, their spoons clanking gently against the glass. Jared missed that Turian on the citadel.  
Andromeda had only raised the stakes – immensely, and inevitably. Now he was tasked with deciding what he’d like to eat in the morning as well as with the fate of the Asari Pathfinder. Cora looked to him with pleading eyes as he made up his mind about what would happen with Sarissa and the knowledge of her betrayal of Matriarch Ishara. Her eyes were resigned as he made the decision to retain Sarissa, and bury the knowledge. She understood – just as Sara had when he’d said he was saving the Turian dessert for a special occasion – but that didn’t mean she was okay. And that was the issue with being Pathfinder, he thought. You alienate those you care about while depending on them to help create homes for the remnants of a long-gone galaxy. It was exhausting, but it was not his decision to make. (And he would never speak of the tired feeling that seeped into his bones – not until Cora poured him a drink that night in his quarters, pulling his head onto her shoulder as they sat next to one another on the small couch. She’d wanted to share the burning feeling in her throat, hoping it would alleviate the pain in both of their chests.)

(That night he read a message on his private terminal. It was from Reyes Vidal, and that did little to calm him. His stomach filled with an ache so strong he had no qualms attributing it to the drink he’d shared with Cora.)

The Pathfinder team was ready for the unexpected, but that didn’t mean they wanted it to come. As they prepared to jump to the Govorkam system, Jared was grateful for the familiarity of a mission – a known quantity, that no matter how dangerous, would not come from the shadows to stab him in the back. The Kadaran gangs were not that smart, after all. (Looking back, he supposed that was a bold assumption to make, having had nearly no dealings with the Collective. Were they avoiding him because they were intelligent, or because they were scared? In the end, it was neither, really.) He was even more grateful for SAM’s voice telling him a comm link had been set up (for Reyes?) and that Vidal was awaiting his call. This signified a solid mission – further entrenching himself in Kadaran politics, at the very least making himself essential to someone’s ground operation. 

He also wanted an excuse to talk to Reyes, not that he needed one – not that it made sense to want one. He had become so accustomed to justifying his actions, to explaining himself to some authority bigger than himself, that hoping for something out of simple want seemed too much to be allowed. The call asking Jared to attend a party with him was perfect, however. Jared would not admit to the pounding feeling of his heart in his throat when Vidal said he’d been thinking about him. 

(“Are you asking me out?”

“I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”

“And if I don’t want you to be a gentleman?”

“That can be arranged.”)

Jared had made his conclusion: his feelings about Kadara Port were far from neutral. Despite his lackluster first impressions, the smell of Ryncol and Angaran liquor in the air made him think of the Afterlife back on Omega – of shady private rooms to which a Batarian had once tried to lead him with promises Jared knew he couldn’t keep. Aria T’Loak’s guard he may have been – it hadn’t mattered in the end. (He hadn’t said no to the Turian who had leaned in too close to be friendly, or the quarian who had begged only to touch.) He hadn’t sought out shady nightclubs in the Milky Way, but he’d found himself in them all the same – with friends on shore leave, being sent to the Terminus Systems as part of a recon team. It had never really been his scene; he didn’t miss the loud music or the Turian bartender who threatened to turn his insides to goo with a surprise drink if he didn’t pay his tab immediately. Kadara Port was the same and so different all at once; the port was a scene with latent danger lurking behind weapons dealers’ stands, and with people struggling to survive around every corner. In a way, it was a scaled down version of every space station – restrictions on water, livelihood, and freedom. Add a self-proclaimed dictator in and you had Omega to a T. (Kadara was far more dysfunctional. There was no perhaps to it.) 

Despite this, he looked to the sunset falling behind the buildings as if it had a choice. He thought it was beautiful – fleeting, like so many things in Andromeda: luck, credits, time – but it was. The sky was dark pink and orange when Reyes told Sloane’s guard that Jared was with him. The breath trapped in his throat told him that he liked Kadara Port; he was no longer neutral. He thought no one could remain unmoved by the plight of the exiles. He was a levelheaded individual, but he wasn’t a monster. (He liked to think he wouldn’t have left the Nexus if he had been one of the people awoken to find that nothing was as it should be. He didn’t think he would have been able to stand it.) 

That wasn’t just Reyes’ hand on the small of his back as he introduced Jared to Keema Dohrgun talking. 

_Pathfinder, your heart is accelerating at a rapid pace. Despite my knowledge of human physiology, I cannot pinpoint a physical reason. Perhaps it is due to Mr. Vidal’s proximity._

Jared did not ignore SAM’s voice in his head, so much as he selectively chose not to listen. It turned out that Reyes’ proximity would not be an issue for much longer, however, as he disappeared to do something that he had failed to disclose. He was not an easy man to get to know. 

“It’s better not to worry about what Reyes does. Enjoy the party.” Keema’s voice had the lilting quality that all Angara possessed – like they knew something you didn’t. Jared supposed that was true, as she knew more about Vidal than he could ever hope to. Jared liked her. 

(“You’re all he talks about lately,” she’d said. The Pathfinder hoped there was truth in those words.)

Sloan was characteristically unhappy with his presence, holding his attempt of conversation at arm’s length – then glaring as he approached Umi, successfully ordering a drink from her. She reminded him of one of his best friends from the Milky Way, then: an asari bartender named Laurussia who had never known when to stop pouring him drinks; her little hole in the wall on the Citadel hadn’t been much, she’d said. But it had been hers. And as he finished the glass of whiskey, he figured that was a thought for another time. 

It didn’t take him much time to grow uncomfortable at having no familiar, friendly presence in the room. Even back in the Milky Way, he had gone out with others or not at all. He had told Reyes he had come here for him (only partially a lie: him and the Outpost, always the Initiative poster boy), but that had not mattered to Vidal. 

His escape into a side room seemed in character, but his haphazard step backward at Jared’s approach did not. He smiled, almost nervous the Pathfinder thought, when Jared spoke to him. The Pathfinder was teasing – and he was serious – all at once. Ryder finally understood the duality of man via the time-tested vehicle of masking hurt with sarcasm. (He didn’t admit to himself this is what it was. After all, he had meant for it to be a quick drink.)

“’Take the night off. Come out for a drink.’ Should’ve known you were up to something.”

“Ryder,” and Reyes’ surprise was clear, for once. “It’s not what it looks like.”

“So you didn’t use me as a distraction to go through Sloane’s stuff?” He was unsurprised, as he had been a distraction for Reyes from the beginning. At this point in time, however, it was not the type of distraction he had been hoping to become. 

“Okay, yes.” Reyes paused, before moving a step closer to him. He then made another promise Jared was unsure he would keep. “But it’s for both our benefit! I promise.”

He spoke his mind, then. “You’ve been making a lot of promises –” but Reyes cut him off with a worried look, silencing the already forgotten thought. Jared’s adrenaline spiked. 

“Shit – someone’s coming. We need a distraction!” Had Reyes not thought this far ahead? Jared wondered what he planned had the Pathfinder not shown up. To hide?  
The thought of Reyes hidden behind a crate was comical, but then was not the time for thoughts beyond the second they were in. 

Lexi always told him that he was only ever irrational when it came to people he cared about. In the field, he was unmovable – holding all of his choices away from him. 

He had been trained as a soldier, once, but no one had trained him to make decisions impacting the survival of entire species. This decision, however, was of a lesser sort: did they get kicked out of the Queen of Kadara’s romp just a little too early? Jared concluded that no, they would not, and committed to something he’d wanted since he saw Reyes’ stupid face – even more since the message Reyes had sent him about his taste in men. 

Jared kissed him. Hands gripping Reyes’ shoulders, he’d feel dramatic to say he felt explosions – but the Pathfinder had always felt a little more strongly than he’d have liked. Reyes’ hand coming up to cup the back of his head, fingers dragging along the scalp… well that was a better feeling than anything in Andromeda so far. 

He heard the guard clear her throat; he heard her apologize as his lips re-connected with Reyes’. The pressure of a hand on his hip didn’t move until she’d left the room, Vidal breaking the kiss but leaving a searing handprint where he’d held him. Jared wanted to kiss him again. 

Vidal’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper. (Jared wanted to believe that he was reverent. He hoped, because as irrational as it was, he liked Vidal. He wanted Reyes to like him – to want him back.) “I think we’re in the clear.”

Jared decided to push his luck with the feeling of Reyes’ lips still burning in his mind. “Maybe another kiss? Just to be sure.”

Reyes laughed, stepping away from the Pathfinder. “Now you’re just teasing me.” 

Jared chuckled despite himself. For the moment, he was happy. Lexi’s voice was ringing in his ears as she said he was impulsive with his affection. He supposed he could selectively listen to her as well, no matter how well-meaning her analysis was. 

The Pathfinder watched as Reyes climbed the shelf, pulling down a bottle. 

“That’s what this was all about? Whiskey?”

Reyes smiled at him as he explained; he felt warmer than any Kadaran sun. “The only bottle of Mount Milgrom in Andromeda. Triple-distilled and 645 years old. This isn’t whiskey – it’s treasure.”

Jared let himself believe this was important as he responded. “I hope you’re planning on sharing.”

“We’ll see,” Reyes said before taking his hand. Jared swore that his heart stopped for just a moment as Reyes tugged the Pathfinder toward him. “Let’s get out of here.”

☼ ☼ ☼

Jared’s impression of Kadara was far from neutral, the sun still falling behind rock formations – dusting the port in a faint yellow glow. The whiskey in his hand made him feel warmer than any person deserved, and the minimal contact his back held with Vidal did him no favors. As he looked down over the edge, Reyes at his back –  
Jared thought that nights like these were why people had come to Andromeda in the first place: a sense of adventure, belonging, a burning feeling in your chest that you’d arrived. He hadn’t known Vidal long, but the Pathfinder knew he would understand. 

Jared had come to Andromeda to be the person he had wanted to be – not extraordinary, but free: from expectations and the tarnish on the Ryder name. And on a night like this, shirking his obligations for just a moment… well, he felt extraordinary, though he had never meant to be. 

Vidal’s voice broke his reflection, but Jared was thankful for it. He needed something else to think about before he reverted to the feeling of Reyes’ hands in his hair – how much he wanted it again. 

“Gorgeous, isn’t it? I sometimes forget.” He paused – as if searching for something as he looked out over the Kadaran skyline. Jared would not ask, but he’d hope Vidal was thinking of kissing him again, looking for permission. He asked, softly, turning his head to the side to look at Jared seated on the corner of the ledge they had found themselves upon. “Is Andromeda everything you hoped it would be?”

The Pathfinder thought a moment before responding. It had been a rough ride, but he would survive. (Hopefully.) Sometimes, he wished he would listen to Lexi. “Every day’s an adventure. Even my nights off are interesting.”

Jared paused, debating with himself. In the end, he threw caution to the wind. As he asked the question, he passed the whiskey bottle to Reyes. “What about you? Why did you come here, Reyes?”

Vidal paused as Jared looked at him over his shoulder. He didn’t make eye contact with the Pathfinder as he spoke. “To be someone.” The honesty was welcome, if unexpected. 

_You are impulsive with your affection, Ryder. Impulsivity – that result of your lack of connections growing up. You love your friends intensely. You fall quickly. The crew has told me some things, Jared, and I – just be careful, Pathfinder. Forgive me if I momentarily overstep as your doctor, and always as your friend._

Jared loved the human ability to not heed the wise words of the Asari. 

“You’re someone to me.”

Reyes turned to look at him, slowly entering his space as if he needed permission – as if that wasn’t what Jared had been wanting all night. Reyes glowed golden in the sun as he spoke, leaning closer with each passing second, stopping close enough for his words to be warm across Jared’s face. They caressed like the light on Vidal’s skin. “I’m starting to think that kiss was more than just a distraction.”

And Jared wanted to tell him that of course it was, he was glad the man had finally caught on, but the gloved hand that came to tilt his chin up – that gently urged  
Jared’s lips toward Reyes’ – stopped him from doing so. He couldn’t make a fool of himself with his mouth occupied, hands not knowing what to do as Vidal’s own slid from his face to his neck, the other resting low on his back. They kissed until Jared couldn’t breathe, which likely wasn’t more than ten seconds. Reyes dropped his hand from Jared’s neck, the other still resting on his back. Their foreheads came together for just a moment as Jared spoke.

_Impulsive with your affection._

“Still think it was just a distraction? We can try again, if you want – remove all doubt.”

Reyes kissed him quickly, a peck different from the kiss they had just shared. “I think I believe you, Pathfinder.” 

Jared shook his head as he pulled away, right before resting it atop Reyes’ shoulder. Vidal made no moves to shake him off. 

Maybe he could have this – whatever this was – as for once, wanting had done him some good. He had kissed a beautiful man beneath stars no one had ever seen before. 

When they kissed again, the night swallowed his hopes whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ily thank u for reading!!


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reyes is a greedy bastard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(: they have ?

Reyes had been shot before. Of course he had – was the name of the game if you ventured into waters more dangerous than a shallow creek. And Reyes had shot too many men to count; he had killed even more. It wasn’t pleasant, the business of taking a life. But at night, as he sat in his private room in Tartarus, he would continue to tell himself it was necessary. 

Sleeping with Jared Ryder that night was a shot to the abdomen – was not necessary. It had been inflicted to last, or to hurt. Maybe it had been placed there to do both. It festered slowly until he could feel nothing beyond it, but it was dangerous all the same. He bled out on the sheets in his apartment as warm hands eagerly pinned Reyes’ own to the mattress below him. The blood pooling beneath him was oddly like sweat – a biotic pressed close to his chest, kissing him slowly – then a waterfall, couldn’t get enough as everything crashed around him. The blood loss was total. 

(“You’re so warm, Ryder.”

The ghost of laughter – a smile too genuine it hurt Reyes to look at. Pieces of armor were thrown to the floor and Reyes could not wait to touch.

“Biotics run hot, but I think it’s more than that.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. You think I’m hot.”)

The sensation at his neck drew his attention from the sudden pain in his gut to the hot breath across his skin – the tongue licking across pink lips that made contact with his own. Their armor had been stripped off long ago, but prior to Ryder’s voice in his ear, he hadn’t felt so bare. He could only imagine the Pathfinder’s thoughts, but wished to make the most of the time he had to touch the stars. He wanted to paint constellations on Ryder’s skin; Reyes had never been infatuated with space, only liked to zip through it until he arrived at his final destination – but looking at the light stardust of freckles across Jared Ryder’s shoulders, Reyes knew that he was seeing the only stars he’d ever wanted to. 

He would tell him. He was a greedy bastard, but he wanted to know the moment was real – that it could endure. He told himself that too was selfish, because the implications beyond self-interest were too much for him to think about. His brain was slowly losing its ability to process any and all information. 

“Jared, I-” But he was interrupted, a quick press of lips to his own before words were flung in his direction. Reyes felt them like a wound. Perhaps they were meant to be. 

“Reyes,” the Pathfinder said as he released the conspicuously tight hold he’d had on Reyes’ hands. He sat back to look at Reyes below him – legs barring his hips. “I want you – want this.” And Reyes had been shot again. 

Honesty had never been one of his best qualities. He would tell a partial truth – tell a partial lie. But he would not lie in this. “You have it, Pathfinder.” (He did not say “you have me.” It wasn’t true, was it? He was a smuggler – but he was also a half-truth: winks and crooked smiles with no intention of revealing the purpose – at least at the beginning. And if the purpose of smiling just a little too much, staring a little too long – if it had changed in the short weeks he had known Jared Ryder, he would continue to lie and tell himself the lingering fear at his unspoken confession was from nothing at all. Keema would say he was good at lying to himself in the light of day. He would tell her it came with the job.)

Jared laughed. His hands were everywhere on Reyes’ torso: sliding across his chest, his shoulders – squeezing there as he leaned down to speak in Reyes’ ear. Reyes could feel every point of connection; the Pathfinder lit him up, heat signatures on a cool map – red against stark blue. 

“Good. Where do you want me, Reyes?”

The laughter that tore from Ryder’s throat as Reyes flipped the two of them over, Vidal’s arms bracing around Jared, now – it was genuine. (Reyes was having fun in bed as he often did, but this was fun beyond a purpose. It just was. And though he hesitated to think about it, this was more.)

His lips were at the hollow of Ryder’s throat, and his hands held him above him. He couldn’t help his smile against Jared’s tan skin; he didn’t want to. “Right here.” And with a kiss placed to the center of Ryder’s chest: “And there.” Further – “And there.” 

(As Ryder’s body changed beneath his fingertips, Reyes Vidal said a quick thank you to anyone who would listen. The Pathfinder was beautiful as his lips opened – breathy sounds passing them. Reyes clung to them, and hoped he would hear them again. 

He kissed the scar on Jared’s hip, and carried on.)

“Kiss me again.”

“Greedy.”

But Reyes did.

☼ ☼ ☼

The cave was dark – and Reyes supposed it was fitting that he was hidden in the shadows, sniper even further back. He was a shady bastard, and this would be no different. The plan to take out Sloane would go without a hitch, and by the end of the encounter he would have a port to run; it could wait for nothing. He hadn’t been anticipating the man at her back – the singular blind spot in any and all intel gathered by the Collective. (There had been whispers of Sloane’s intentions to use him – nothing solid, however. Nothing that would have indicated this.) After all, the Nexus was a blind spot for many, as they had all signed onto the Andromeda Initiative at one point and now graced the Kadaran surface. 

(He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but even now – one bout of casual sex in – Reyes would not kill the human Pathfinder; how a few weeks could fledge distress at the thought, well, Reyes was loathe to admit any of the possible causes to himself. Keema would say that perhaps the meaning of casual had changed, or Reyes had simply not understood the word. She said there was nothing casual about them, about the way Reyes hesitated to tell – the way he didn’t want to for fear of what would change, as everything would. There would be no dusted constellations beneath his hands, and the stars in pale green eyes would die when they looked at him. 

She said he was being dramatic. 

He said she was being nosy.)

The sight of Jared Ryder stepping into the cave with Sloane was the moment where he woke up from his dream that anything about them was right or easy. It had been easy to want him, but so hard to justify it to himself when the Pathfinder walked in with the woman he’d stop at nothing to take from power. (Nothing – except that.)

Jaile, his sniper resting in the shadows, seemed not to have gotten the memo he was to wait as the shot rang out – promptly. There was no time to react between the shot that had been meant to hit Sloane, but veered to the female turian at her left. Jaile had never missed; he would not miss again as he lined up another shot. Reyes felt the apprehension liked a stab wound, would not pull out the knife until he was sure he would not bleed out. The turian – the one he’d often seen with Jared – she’d merely blinked at the shot, her armor serving her well. As Jaile missed once more, not any fault of his own, armor cracked beneath the bullet, ripping through shades of red and black as Jared Ryder leapt in front of Sloane Kelly. 

He had no port to take – not until after the third shot. Now the Nexus had no human Pathfinder, and he looked to the body of a man he had held so recently in his arms. He longed to approach, but the turian’s tears did not allow him to do so. The biotic woman next to them - _Cora,_ he thought – appeared vengeful. 

“You’ve died before, Ryder. Come on, SAM. Wake him up.”

There was no response.

“This was the Collective. I told Jared not to get involved with this.” The shaking in the blonde human’s voice did the situation no favors.

(And he supposed that yes – it was the Collective, in the end, who had killed the Pathfinder.)

Seeing Ryder on the ground had been like waking up from a dream, but the aching pain in his chest was truly waking up. When the sun came through the windows of the Spartan apartment, Reyes was surprised to find that he was the one who had been left behind. There was no sign of the Pathfinder in his bed or otherwise; he was gone, and Reyes was a fool. 

But he wasn’t. (At least, finding the note on the stained table in the living area made it feel less so: even less once he had read the words, Jared unintentionally reminding Reyes of all the things he had meant to say and failed to put on the table. He was still the Charlatan, and he knew he was running out of time to let him know. Ryder may have unintentionally let him in – but even those you were blinded by could not fool you forever.)

__

> _Reyes,_
> 
> _Can’t say too much, but I’m headed to Eos to find some people. I’m the only one they can ask to do this, obviously. I’m happy to do it, but I think you’ve gathered how exhausting it all can be. You get it – at least sort of._
> 
> _I wish I could have returned the favor this morning. (Though I guess you did owe me for the drinks.)_
> 
> _We kissed, twice, and now we’ve done a little bit more than that. Maybe next time I’m on-world, we should talk. Or not. We can kiss again._
> 
> _I sound like I’ve never done this before. (I’ve never had sex with a smuggler, so I guess that is true.)_
> 
> _You know how to contact me. I do more than wink._
> 
> _Ryder_

It seemed that no time had passed before the dossiers were strewn across the table in his private room. The smoke wafted around Keema and she appeared far more dangerous here than any place in Kadara Port – for here, she was.

“As much as I wish to discuss you and the Pathfinder, we must choose between the operatives here. Both loyal – both the best.” The cigar hanging from her fingers was placed at her lips, and the drag she took was longer than should have been sustainable. The Angara beat the humans at their own game. “You have many choices to make, Reyes, and some of them have correct answers. We cannot always operate in shades of grey.”

Reyes knew she was no longer speaking of the decision between Jaile and Shadhik. (The correct choice was Jaile; it was black and white. He was the better shot. He was more trustworthy, and had been with the Collective longer. He had a sense of loyalty to the Charlatan unrivaled by anyone aside form Dohrgun herself.)

“It’s Jaile. He’ll be the one I take with me, though you already know that.”

She shook her head at him, putting the cigar out on the ashtray. “It’s so boring to assume.”

“Keema, stop speaking in code.” Reyes wished he had been more careful with what he asked for. It wasn’t a flaw he often considered, but then, it was shoved into his face – if only for the moment in which Keema stared at him as though she could not believe that he had morphed into the biggest moron in Angara space. 

“You need to choose between a lie and an ally. Sometimes the truth is more powerful, Reyes. You knew this with me. It shouldn’t be so difficult now.”

(He hadn’t held onto Keema as he kissed onto her shoulder blades – hadn’t gripped her hips as they had sex in a place he considered his own. He was glad for that, but could not convey the sentiment so easily.

Keema operated outside of the law as it stood. Jared did as well, but he had some sort of warped moral code that made Reyes so frustrated and so inexplicably attracted to him that it hurt. Keema was necessary to progress despite her position as his friend – she always had been. Ryder simply expedited the process, and made it so much more difficult, all at once.)

“Okay, Keema.”

And the next time the Pathfinder had been on-world, prior to the jump through the Govorkam system – needing supplies for some venture to the far reaches of the cluster – Reyes had meant to tell him the truth. (It was so hard to say that he was the Charlatan, so hard to admit to being someone from horror stories the pervaded the world. Jared would not be afraid, but he would be disgusted that he had ever been allowed to touch him.)

He had not told, not when Jared said plainly that he had missed him as they met in his private room in Tartarus. He had locked the door when hands came to rest upon his hips, when lips met his. It was too slow – too unrushed for it to not be real. Reyes pretended he wasn’t terrified of the depth of the Pathfinder’s feelings. (He was afraid to crush him. He was afraid of himself.)

When they ended up in his bed together once more, the sheets pooling around his waist as Ryder kissed him goodbye, he told himself he would tell the next time. (He was used to being the one leaving. He watched as the Pathfinder went where he could not. The wound in his chest had nothing to do with the increasingly aching feeling he felt at each exit.)

A week later, it was hot – the Kadara heat scorching the planet. It was a day no different than any other, but it felt like the air had changed. He sent a message to Jaile. 

_Today._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow u guys know what's happening next. also Jaile is related to my other OC Tony Jaile who is a merc in love w a drell priest back in the milky way (600 years ago) bc we love layeeeers.

**Author's Note:**

> if u liked, lemme know pls! i'm gonna try and update every few days as i have a few chaps done


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